For reasons both personal and out of your control, you have all found yourselves in Absalom. Some of you were born here, and others just visiting the so-called Jewel of the Inner Sea. In any event, all of you have your own wounds and scars you carry in your soul, much like the city you now call home.

After returning to your separate abodes, you all find yourselves feeling more tired than can be expected, and find yourselves drifting into a restless slumber...

As you dream...you see in your mind's eye as if from peering from a great distance ...

A leaning monument to the district’s pain, this four-story courthouse is a crumbling marvel of cracked plaster and chipped marble. Once a testament to justice wrought in shining white stone, the courthouse is now a crushed dream, its wretched exterior corrupted by a bloated evil festering within. Rainwater from a recent downpour mixed with mulch oozes from ruptures in the rock like pus bubbling from a wound. The structure of the eastern wing of the upper floor buckled long ago, and now the bell tower tilts perilously, appearing as though it might careen to the ground below at any moment. Two massive pillars frame the heavy oak doors of the court. The pillars’ surfaces run with cracks and fissures like so many burst veins. The doors sag in their archway like the drooping eyes of a madman. The surrounding structures long ago fell in upon themselves in supplication to the creaking courthouse. A salt wind blows up the precipice and rakes across the tangled weeds of Beldrin’s Bluff. The whole building groans as the wind blows, its tortured lamentation fading to a rasping hiss as the wind ebbs. This croaking murmur never completely fades away. The sun sets in the west, the last slivers of twilight painting the courthouse blood red as darkness creeps closer....

Then your view of the courthouse vanishes, only to be replaced by another vision...

Ganer Jitesh:

The courtroom buzzes with nervous anticipation. Dozens of eyes, from the crowd behind you and the jurors’ box across the aisle, focus on you. The expressions range from contempt to pity, but there is no forgiveness in their faces. The magistrate slams down his gavel repeatedly and snarls for silence. The murmur of the crowd relents as the stocky magistrate draws up to his full height, smoothing a silver beard with one hand as he sets down his gavel and focuses on you with shining green eyes.

"Jarbin Mord. For the brutal and savage slaying of your own wife and six-year-old boy, it is the verdict of this jury, with which I concur wholeheartedly, that you shall hang by your neck until dead. May the gods take mercy on your blackened soul."

Gared Naught:

A clack of wood on wood is followed by a whip crack of rope drawing taut. The crunch of vertebrae echoes off the walls. A man’s booted feet twitch freakishly as his last breath rasps from his ruined throat in a choking death rattle. You suddenly realize the man is you, and you look down in horror at your own twitching legs. The crowd jeers with delight and laughs as you rasp your last.

Horven Graveltoes:

A hulking man is hunched over in this dark dreary corridor of cold flagstone, his back to you. His right hand works feverishly, sawing away at something unseen with a blood-slick shortsword as he gibbers: “Show me the way, Sashrala, you can do it. Use your magic to show me out of here. I love you. I love you so much. Just please show me the way!” With a final wet snap of sinew, blood pools at the man’s feet and he hefts the gory head of a beautiful elven woman. “Thank you, Sashrala. I love you.” The man cries and laughs at once as he kisses her still-working lips and then thrusts her head forward like a lantern. The poor woman’s eyes still blink in disbelief; you get the horrid sense she can still see as her mouth trembles out a vain and silent plea for mercy. Her body lies in a pool of blood flowing freely from her hacked neck. Her right arm is outstretched, her finger pointing toward something beyond the darkness.

Ratcliff:

A cloaked figure enters a small attic. A voluptuous woman with dark features sits in a rocking chair, swaying as she hums and knits a sweater for a small child. She looks up, alarm on her face, as the figure closes, its back to you as it advances toward her. Slowly the alarm changes to horror as the figure looms over her.

Slowly, the vision fades away as you return to consciousness, but the sight that greets you is almost as disturbing. The dying gray light of sunset peeks through slits in the boarded windows, barely illuminating a yawning courtroom replete with pews and a towering bench covered in cobwebs. A shadowed mural on the domed ceiling above depicts Iomedae in her shining plate mail of gilded sunlight, locked in mortal combat with Norgorber, Calistria, and Asmodeus, holding the trifecta of evil at bay with her shining sword. You find yourself in a jurors’ box, and you are not alone. In the other chairs, figures stir in the darkness, each emerging from troubling dreams into a new nightmare.

Glancing around you, you all realize the number of people in this room is twelve. In addition to yourselves, you see

A male half orc dressed in commoners clothing,

A male gnome, dressed in a jesters outfit,

A human female, rather attractive, dressed in a sequined red evening gown,

A rosy-cheeked old human man dressed in threadbare finery with a broad handlebar mustache and a frayed top hat,

A hobgoblin, who has the look of a hardened criminal about him,

A tall, sturdy human man in his fiftieth winter, dressed in chainmail emblazoned with the symbol of Iomedae,

A pretty young halfling lad, and finally

A grizzled old dwarf laborer.

OK, the adventure has begun! Feel free to interact with each other now. The four of you are seated together in the south jury area, while the other eight people are seated apart from you in the north area, murmering softly to each other and stealing glances at the four of you when they think you won't notice them.

Gared awoke with a start and rubbed his neck where the whip had crushed the life from him. It hadn't hurt nearly as much as the jeers of the crowd around him had. The dwarf attempted to gain his bearings, wondering if he had only slipped from one nightmare to another.

As Gared rises to his feet looking around him, he sees that the group is indeed inside a courtroom. Rows of dusty benches, several askew or knocked over, are lined behind a waist-high partition separating spectators from trials. A dusty wooden jurors’ box, rickety from generations of termites and time’s cruel fangs, stands against the south wall. A high bench covered in muslin rests against the east wall. Two thick tables once stood facing the bench, now one has been smashed to kindling. An evidence table rests against the south wall.

Gared:

As you look towards the others seated apart from you, you notice the hobgoblin shoots you a nasty grin. Glancing towards the other side of the courtroom, you see there is a bloodied axe laying on the evidence table, still covered in dust and debris.

I'll wait for the other players to chime in before I 'introduce' you to the other people, he he.

Ratcliff shoots awake, his fur is matted from his incessant tossing and turning. It takes him a while to register everyone else in the room but when he does his tongue flicks out nervously. He hears the halfling near him talk and cleans his whiskers before squeaking a reply "No but I did have some delicious cheese." He looks about the room some more but in particular studies the four closest to him.

Seeing as we're all eyeing each other up, Gared stands at just over four feet tall, with golden wheat colored hair, weathered and tan skin, and striking crystal blue eyes. He wears a simple brown tunic with a worn rope belt and a long grey hooded cloak which is equally plain. Two leather cords hang from his neck, their contents obscured by his clothing. A sturdy looking recurve bow rests in his rough hands and seems to give him some comfort, while a quiver of arrows rests over his broad right shoulder. He seems as old and worn as ancient stone, his eyes deep sapphires filled with grief as large as an ocean. Those sapphires survey the scene with a stoic resignation, patiently surveying the room.

Strange creatures and a halfling... As much they seem the stuff of nightmares, they seem to be in the same predicament as I... Let us see what judgments this strange court house will bring., the dwarf mused.

Gared watched and waited, comforted by the feel of his bow in his hand.

I'll go next, there is not a lot to describe about how Ganer looks, on account of his large, brown, Palpatine style cloak that covers his head. What little you can see of his face appears to include a feline snout, and black and white striped coloration. His hands can be seen outside of the cloak, because he hasn't pulled them in. While still obviously functional as hands, his fingers seem short and fleshy, somewhat like a paw.

Ganer looked around, wondering if he recognized anyone, probably not, since they weren't doing anything more threatening than watching him. When the halfling spoke, Ganer turned to watch him for a moment. "You believe this is a dream, then?" Ganer's voice was deadpan, giving no hint of his opinion. He cast his gaze around the room, and then added, "I believe this is real. Perhaps the gods have seen fit to put us to some kind of test."

Horven is dressed in a plain traveling outfit, the studs of his leather armor creating noticeable bumps beneath his tunic. The scabbard of a barely used dagger, more of a threat to bandits than a functional weapon, is tucked behind his belt pouch. A hefty backpack lies next to him, bits of rough wood sticking out of the flap. His shaggy brown hair frames his face and almost conceals his darting brown eyes.

"I do not believe this to be a dream, stranger," Horven replies, knowing it was rather forward of him. "Nor do I believe this is a test given to us by the gods. If I were to venture a guess, I think we have some things that we are about to answer for."

Horven silently drums his fingers against the hilt of his dagger. He sighs again and looks downward.

He gave the three nearest to him another look, before he replied, "The dwarf looks respectable enough to not be taken in his sleep. Or at least, not to be taken in his sleep by the sorts that would bring their captives here. My name is Ganer Jitesh. I am a scholar, of sorts."

The dwarf nodded to the hooded creature as he introduced himself. "I am Gared. I am on a pilgrimage of sorts, in the name of Old Deadeye." He looked around the room slowly again, his eyes lingering on each of the 11 humanoids in the room, gauging their reaction as he spoke. "I do not recall how I came to be here, only that I was tired last night in a deeper way than is usual for me, and hand strange and vivid dreams of a courthouse and my own death."

Your musings are interrupted by the high pitched giggling coming from the gnome, "Cheese...CHEESE?? Yes, the ratfolk would know his cheesse, Ha ha ahhahahahaha....!" His giggling is abruptly cutoff by a rap on his head by the dwarf, who silences any protest (but you do all see the venomous look in the gnome's eyes.)

"Quiet there, Ebin. Yer gigglin' be gettin' on me nerves." He then turns to face the four of you. "A dream you say...perhaps so, perhaps more than that." He hobbles over to you, an appraising look in his eyes. "Tell me, gents, 'ave ye eveah heard of Jarbin Mord?"

Knowledge, Local checks please. Keep in mind you can make this check untrained, but the Max DC you can learn is 10 in that case.

Gared tried to remember if he'd heard the name mentioned any where since he'd arrived in the city, but shook his head at the dwarf as nothing came to him. "I am afraid not. I have not been long in this city, but I would like to learn what I can of it. Would you share what you know with us?"

Ratcliff is dressed in a blue stained robe that hangs down covering his feet, the faint smell of sewerage comes from his body. His fur is bright grey apart from the one darker patch that sits on his twitching nose. He bends down and picks up his backpack and dons it pushing a scroll back inside as he does. He also picks up his quarterstaff and rests his weight on it. Finally you notice a silver ring on his finger with the image of a rat engraved into it.

As Ganer speaks some primal fear awakens inside Ratcliff and he steps back, his large leathery tail flicking out from beneath his robe. No I should give him a chance. I know that more should be given than just first impressions. Everyone else introduces themselves before he plucks up the courage to speak again. "Erm...My Father called me Ratcliff."

Most of you have only heard the common tales, but even so that is enough...

Beldrin’s Bluff Courthouse is haunted by the vile spirit of a brutal murderer who was the last man to swing on its gallows. Jarbin Mord killed his wife and son with an axe, then he swung from the very gallows he tended as executioner for ten years. A band of adventurers led by Father Kelgaard of the Church of Sarenrae braved the courthouse five years ago, but only one of his band survived— a burly human named Grisom Twin-Axe, and his mind was shattered by the harrowing experience.

The gnome Ebin giggles again once the old dwarf moves away from him. "RATcliff, right? Ahh ah ah ha ha haha...so that means he was the big CHEESE right, get it..ehhh he he heehee..."

Horven rests his chin in the palm of his left hand. He glances at the gnome briefly, then rolls his eyes.

His jokes really aren't that funny.

"So, what does this Jabin Mord, a dead man, have to do with us?" Horven says, looking at his 'companions'. "What does it have to with you, for that matter? I suppose I am being a bit inquisitive, but I think the more we know, the better prepared we can be."

Horven restrains himself from becoming frantic, but the mentions of the others' dreams and the recollection of his own make him more uneasy. He sighs again, trying to regain his composure. He smiles, despite himself, and looks into the old dwarf's eyes.

The old dwarf looks at Horven, moved by the appeal of the young halfling. "Well, lemme tell ya, 'Orven, I gots a pretty good idear why e is all 'ere but I be sure as the day is long ye ain't gonna like it. Ya see, we be trapped inside th' Beldrin Bluff courthouse where th' spirit of that foul murderous ghost be hauntin' eveah since he was hanged fer his crimes! You don’t fear though, lad. Old Tablark’s seen more ghosts than these walls ’ave rats. Nothing to quake about. We’ll send this foul spirit a’packin’ or me clan name ain’t Hammergrind!”

After the dwarf Tablark issues his proclamation, Horven is surprised when the halfling lady rushes into his arms, clinging to him protectively. "Oh! Horven Tablark is right. That murderous spirit won't rest until we are all hung by his own rope!" She releases him while still gazing at him with her pouty lips, her auburn hair flopping back in a topknot, her sculpted physique speaking of a life born to athletic pursuits. "I am Madge Blossomheart, Horven. I am really scared! But you can protect me, right?"

"I don't know what help I'll be in putting ghost's to rest... Gared spoke, his eyes resting on the dwarf and halflings as if he was seeing something else. I certainly hadn't had any luck with my own..."...but for what it's worth, you have my eyes and bow."

This is neither the time nor place for this. But, wow! She sure is pretty and she wants me to protect her! Oh, damn it...Calm down, Horven. Desna, if I ever needed a moment to be completely level-headed, it would be now.

"Ahem...um...Miss Blossomheart, I...I mean we...will do our best to protect you...and everyone else," Horven stutters. "Gared, I hope you are sincere in your offer. Ratcliff and Ganer, can we depend on your talents as well?"

" If we are truly stuck here, then my promise of assistance is irrelevant. Still, if an oath of assistance is required, then you have it from me." Ganer wondered how many of these people would be happy to have his assistance if they knew he was a beastbrood. Oh well, in such matters Ganer had come to understand that ignorance was bliss.

"It has been my experience that dreams impart knowledge that we would have otherwise missed, and in fact Irori has many times spoken to me while I slept. Before I woke up here I dreamed of Mord's sentencing. Have any of you had any dreams that seem especially appropriate in light of what we know now?"

To Gared:

Ganer seems to be holding something back, but you can't tell what. He does seem pretty focused on keeping that cloak pulled closed, though. . .

Horven turns to Ganer. "I dreamt of a large man beheading an elven woman, asking her for guidance. I do not know what help that can provide."

He turns away sickened by the recollection. After a moment, he slowly approaches Ganer. He looks downward.

"I merely asked for your oath because it is easy for any one of us to consider our own well-being above anything else. We do not know each other well enough to assume what we will actually do. A few words can go a long way."

Gared pondered the halfling's words for a moment, a shadow of remembered joy passing briefly through his eyes. "You speak with wisdom and humility, Horven. Know that you need not doubt my sincerity, for I would place more value upon your life than my own." The dwarf turned to Ganer and Tablark. "I dreamed of my own death by noose among a frenzied crowd. I do not know what omen it bespeaks, but I know that it is much different from the nightmares that usually haunt me."

Ganer nodded, apparently taking the halfling's words into account. "You are correct. I had not considered that possibility.

Several moments of silence passed, with Ganer apparently pondering Horven and Gared's dreams. "It seems as though we have each dreamed of a different part of the story. In my dream, I was being sentanced to die by hanging for the murders, only I was identified by name as Jarbin Mord." He turned to Horven and added, "I suppose you dreamed of his murder of his wife, and Gared must have dreamed of the execution. Does that mean that you had the misfortune to dream about the murder of a child?" The last question was directed at Ratcliff.

Hmm never been asked to swear anything before. He strokes his whiskers again before speaking " Yes you can all count on my... skills. I will do my best."

He listens intently as the others recount their dreams then when asked about his own he quietly replies "I...I remember that there was a figure standing above a woman, she was knitting clothes for a child. The figure closed and... and then I awoke to find myself here. I did not see what happened next but I doubt I truly needed to."

Gared stroked his wheat colored beard as he thought. "If the four of us have had a connected dream, and appeared in this place, I must wonder why. Does anyone know what this haunted ground has to do with us?"

As the four of you (plus Madge, who continues to hover near Horven) continue to discuss things quietly amongst yourselves, you notice someone approach your group. It is the human female in the red evening gown. She eyes the four of you, barely glancing at Madge, and her gaze lingering over Ganer. "I am not sure why we all are here, but I am sure if we all work together, we can figure out what is going on here. Oh excuse me! How rude of me, my name is Patrissa." As she talks, you see her hands lovingly stroke her necklace, which consists of fire opals if you don't miss your guess.

Ganer:

You can tell she is definitely interested in you romantically.

"No....NO...it is hopeless. We are all doomed to die here in this gods forsaken place, slaughtered by the spirits which haunt this place." Those words uttered by the half-orc, quiet until now, pierce the gloomy air of the abandoned courthouse.

"Nonsense, Halgrak. We will ALL figure out a way out of here, and NONE shall be lost on my watch!" The older man garbed in Saranae's symbol interrupts the mournful words. He walks towards you and touches Patrissa's shoulder in a loving gesture, even though he is easily twice her age. "I can tell you all, we were all members of the jury that convicted Jabrin Mord and sentenced him to hang for his vile crimes!"

As Horven approaches the evidence table, he notices there is still something lying on it. It looks to be a bloody axe.

But before Horven reaches the table, he hears a groaning crack above him. Glancing upwards, he is surprised to see a piece of the mural on the ceiling above him (the portion with Iomedae’s shining sword upon it) breaks free tumbling towards him!

However...that is not all that happens; as the marble chunk falls onto the evidence table, it shatters the rotten table and sends the bloody axe on it spinning end over end across the courtroom, striking the half orc Halgrak a glancing blow before sinking solidly into the north wall of the jurors’ box! It sticks on the wall, quivering slightly.

Gared spoke up in a gentle tone."I agree with the humans." He turned to address the half-orc. "If it is within my power, I would see everyone here safe, alive, and free from this place. Your fate is your own to decide, but if you are willing to accept my aid, and perhaps offer yours in return, then it much more like that we will live to see the light of day once more. It would do all of us good if kept level heads and were honest with one another." Gared's eyes bore into Madge's as he spoke the last sentence.

Gared had hardly had the time to get a read of the halfling's reaction before the world fell apart for no apparent reason. An arrow was drawn in the bow in his hands in an instant as his eye's sought for whatever unapparent reasons for the attack.

Ganer seemed taken by surprise by the way Patrissa was talking, and especially looking at him, and kept his silence until after Horven triggered what was apparently a trap. "Is everyone all right?" He called, after ceiling the bit of ceiling fall and the axe fly. After hearing Halgrak complain, Ganer decided that morale needed to be addressed.

"I don't want to hear any more talk of gloom or doom. You are all fearful of this ghost, but you should be proud! As a man, Jarbin Mord was a blight on society, a killer of women and children, a murderer who could have struck anyone, anywhere, and at any time. After doing your duty and finding him guilty, he was executed, and now his power exists only as far as these walls. Within these walls, his power might be impressive, but you should all be glad, because you have diminished him to the point that what he can do in this building is all that he can do." Ganer seemed to be picking up steam, almost like a traveling evangelist.

"I don't know what powers Mord served, whether the madness of the Rough Beast, his own base impulses or something else. But I do know that the things we serve, the gods above us and the law between us, are more powerful than what he served, and that makes us more powerful than him. He started casting his gaze around the room, watching each of the eight that served on the original jury. "Some years ago, you did your part to serve justice, but your job is not over yet. It's time to cast aside fear and doubt, because court is back in session!" He finished his speech with a stomp, the heavy boot clomped loudly and echoed through the courthouse.

"Well, I suppose I should be more careful when poking about," Horven lamented.

Horven carefully moves back towards the rest of the group. He slides his dagger out of its scabbard. He scans the room again.

Perception Check:

1d20 + 7 ⇒ (5) + 7 = 12

"While we are on the subject, does anyone know anything about ghosts? I have heard a tale or two, but I doubt I can take those with a grain of salt."

Intelligence Check:

1d20 + 2 ⇒ (1) + 2 = 3

"While I agree with you, Ganer, I have a minor qualm. What would drive someone kill their wife and child? There must be a reason. Did anyone know Mord before his crimes? Something does not make sense about all this," Horven mused, scratching his nose.

As Horven voiced a similar question to one Gared had been pondering, the dwarf scanned the faces of the eight who introduced themselves as the jury that had sentenced a man to death. If there was more to the story that they knew and hadn't cared to share, this would be an opportunity to see it.

As things quiet down, the other jurors respond stoicly to Ganer's impassioned speech. He does get the impression he did have an effect though, judging by the smile that breaks out on Patrissa's face.

When Horven posts his question, the rosy-cheeked old human man who is dressed in threadbare finery with a broad handlebar mustache and a frayed top hat speaks up for the first time. "Killian Paltreth. Pleased to meet you all, though the circumstances be dire." He turns to Horven, "So, Horven, what make you think Jabrin is innocent? I mean we all found him guilty under the eyes of the law."

Ratcliff is startled and steps back quickly when the axe flew from the table, he stares at the axe for a while before curiosity got the better of him and he scuttles across the room to where it rests. He inspects the axe while keeping an ear open to the conversation.

Perception:

1d20 + 3 ⇒ (2) + 3 = 5

Ratcliff also racks his mind for information on ghosts or Hauntings.

Knowledge Checks:

Wasn't sure what knowledge roles were needed so I will role Nature and Local.

Although you do not recall any further legends on Jabrin Mord, glancing over where Madge is sticking close to Horven, you suddenly realize you have heard of her! Madge performs as a street performer ( and a relatively popular on as well) and also you recall she used to be one half of a father-daughter show with her father Daben Blossomheart, although now she just performs solo.

"I made no claims to his innocence, Sir Paltreth. I am finding it odd that the ghost of a 'murderer' suddenly decided to bring us all here. There are many men who have justly hung for their crimes, but you do not hear of scores of apparitions floating about courthouses, abducting townsfolk in their sleep. No, there is something unique about Jabin Mord and his circumstances. If he was truly a killer of extraordinary evil, there would have been more dead than his wife and child."

Horven paces back and forth. An unfounded accusation hangs on his tongue. However, without proof, he would be accusing innocent folk who did indeed deliver justice or he would be a hypocrite like they who stood before him. He decides to err on the side of caution and keep his thoughts to himself, but Killian's words remind him to remain suspicious of them all save Ratcliff, Gared and Ganer. Those three are the only ones he could trust in this matter since they, like he, have no prior knowledge of Jabin Mord's trial and execution. He did not know how to proceed, but he could not wait idly.

"What proof had you, save a bloody axe, that Jabin Mord indeed killed his wife and child?" Horven proceeds. "Or did someone despise Jabin Mord so much that they killed his wife and child and pinned the crime on him?"

Ganer tried to jog his memory, hoping that some of his studies in the various temples of Absalom might have pertained to this case, and that he could recall it in this moment.

Knowledge (Religion):

1d20 + 5 ⇒ (9) + 5 = 14

With Horven's question, Ganer realized that others might not know the story. To help dispel any false notions, he replied, "Mord found work as an executioner. He very well could have been a killer of extraordinary evil, though one that found a constructive way to satisfy those urges, for a time, anyway."

He decided that it would be best to speak to individuals, instead of a group, and so he approached Patrissa, the one who had reacted the best to his encouragement. As he walked toward her, he pulled his cloak down over his hands, and tried to adjust it so it concealed as much of his face as possible, preferably without obstructing his vision. "What do you remember of the trial? Also, do you know what became of the four jurors that are not here?"[/b]

You do not recall anything unusual about this particular case, although undead do come in many flavors, it is hard to say what kind of undead he could be.

Patrissa smiles at Ganer in reply to his question. "Well, I do try not to think about that awful man too much Ganer." She steps in close to him, apparently unconcerned with his appearance. "I must confess I do not know why the four of you are here with us. The only reason I can guess is who ever arranged to have us brought here could not find them." As she finishes up, you cannot help but notice how lovely she looks in her evening gown.

Horven:

Looking over the other juror members, you notice sonething...odd about the gentleman who addressed you earlier, but you cannot quite place your finger on it. Also, you saw a look of anger flash in Madge's eyes when you mentioned someone framing Jabrin Mord.

As the halfling finishes his question, he can smell the heady fragrance of a fine cigar burning. Looking up, he sees the hobgoblin swagger over to him. a fine cigar dangling from his jaw. Taking a long drag from it, he blows a cloud of fragrant smoke just above Horven's face which allows the smoke to envelope the halfling's face.

Gared, you get the sense from Patrissa she is...untrustworthy, to say the least. You have heard terms describing women such as 'vixen' and 'harlot'. As for the older man, he is about as opposite from her as you could get.

No problem there! We're all relatively new to this so I expect there to be a learning curve. Besides, it's not much of a problem in the first place. Did Gared see anything with his perception check like looks of guilt or worry, anger, anxiousness ect when Horven brought up the possibility that there might be more to the story than Mord being wholly evil and unmotivated in his crimes?
May as well roll those sense motive checks for the man in the top hat and the hobgoblin as well! I'm loving the character's by the way. I've never worked with this many NPC's so intricately before, to be honest.
Well dressed man 1d20 + 8 ⇒ (5) + 8 = 13
Hobgoblin 1d20 + 8 ⇒ (6) + 8 = 14

Horven coughs a bit with the smoke in his face. He bites back on his anger, fairly sure he was being goaded. He replaces his dagger in its scabbard, trying not to send the wrong message. This hobgoblin was far too relaxed given the situation, but Horven still did not have all the pieces of the puzzle. What he has seen so far neither absolves nor condemns Jabin Mord, but he feels like he is on to something. However, if he is not careful, he may find himself alone with not only a vindictive ghost but eleven mortal folk who might care less about his fate.

To the hobgoblin:"I did not catch your name, good sir," Horven says, feigning as much politeness as possible. "You are also the second to emphasize that you all found him to be guilty. It suggests that not everyone seemed to be sure of Jabin Mord's guilt."

The hobgoblin smirks at Horven, "Probably because I don't give my name to little punks like you." His hand strays down to his belt, where you notice he has a spiked chain looped around the leather. "Now, I know everyone who was on that jury convicted him rightly so!" He affixes a glare at you, "Mebbe, you should just acc--"

"Enough, Malgrim!"

With a start, you see the human male dressed in the armor of Iomedae stalk over to Malgrim, anger clearly in his eyes, hand on his sword hilt. "Or do you want to settle this NOW??"

For a few seconds, Malgrim's face grows mottled with rage and you are all but certain blood will be spilled here. Then abruptly, Malgrim backs down. He turns away from the rest of you and heads towards the corner of the courtroom just outside the jury box. "Mark my words, you should let this dog lie in piece!" His voice rings out with implied threats.

The man looking at you is a tall, sturdy human man in his fiftieth winter, with the snow of age gracing his hair. His face is chiseled as if out of marble, and his narrowed eyes stare down an impressive nose with a superior air.

"Sir Rekkart Cole, an honor to meet you."

Horven:

Yeah, you definitely get the sense he is hiding something. BTW...I am only using the roll for the hobgoblin, as you need to spend a move action for the check.